Evil in the First House: A Starlight Detective Agency (Starlight Detective Agency Mysteries Book 3)
Page 20
She walked over to him, leaned over, and gave him an awkward hug. Luigi decided to get in on it and stood on his back legs. He licked Lowell’s face a few times before Karen could get him down. Then she took Luigi’s leash in hand, turned once with a small wave to Lowell, and headed for L.A.
***
After Karen left, Sarah knocked and came in, walked across the room, and sat on the couch silently for a few moments. Then she stood up and actually huffed, audibly. She walked over to the window and shook her head.
Lowell turned in his swivel chair and watched her. “Something on your mind?”
She turned toward him, pushed her bright red hair back behind her ears, and frowned. “People stink.”
Lowell half-smiled. “Is this news to you?”
“No. I’m not stupid. And I’m not a child. I know what the world is like.”
“So, what’s your problem?”
“I mean, what kind of a man would sacrifice one child for another?”
“Well, remember, in order to justify his actions, Williamson had convinced himself that Edward was more his son than Kevin. But that’s an interesting question. What would you do if you were on a rowboat in the middle of the ocean and your spouse and your child were drowning and you could only save one? Which would it be?”
“That’s not a fair question.”
“Why not?”
“Because no matter which choice I made, I’d lose.”
Lowell retied his ponytail. “Exactly. So what do you do?”
“Couldn’t I jump in and save both and give up my own life?”
Lowell shook his head. “Sorry, not an option. The sharks are just about at the boat and you only have time to help one climb aboard. Do you save the love of your life, or your offspring? And what if you had two children drowning and must choose?”
She opened her mouth, but closed it without speaking.
“Have you ever read the book or seen the movie Sophie’s Choice?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Rent it. Or better yet, read the book.”
“What’s it about?”
He smiled without joy. “It’s about Sophie’s choice. You’ll understand.”
“Okay, I’ll pick it up. I usually like your reading suggestions.”
“Good. Let me know what you think of it.”
“I will.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I think I might sign up for a class in aikido. What do you think?”
“I think that would be a wonderful idea.” The detective leaned forward in his chair, a finger raised. “Just don’t get cocky and get yourself into trouble.”
“I won’t. You made that point quite clearly. I just think it’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen and I’d like to pursue it. Will you help me with it?”
“Anyway I can.”
She smiled.
“Besides, it’ll help you lose those few extra pounds you’ve been putting on.”
“What!” Sarah turned around and looked at her derriere. “It’s those damned marshmallows. They’re addictive. But luckily they’re almost all gone.”
“Well,” Lowell raised his eyebrows, “let’s not order any more, okay?”
Sarah nodded and stood up. She headed for the door, then stopped and turned, a curious expression on her face.
“I’m sorry.”
Lowell leaned back in his chair. “About what?”
“Robert.”
Then she left.
Chapter Forty-nine
Lowell awoke at five and put on his usual garb of creased blue jeans, turtleneck, and loafers. He walked out of the townhouse on Ninety-Third Street, picked up the New York Times from his front stoop, and headed downtown toward his office. The sun was peaking across the horizon sending strange and colorful shadows across Manhattan Island. It was a beautiful late summer morning with just the slightest cool breeze brushing against his face.
He walked down Lexington Avenue past shuttered shops and quiet residential buildings. He seemed engrossed in his thoughts as he meandered across this tiny piece of land that had been his home for more than thirty years.
At Seventy-Ninth Street he turned left and went over toward the East River. He turned down York Avenue, still one of the most serene and gentle streets in the borough. He wondered how many of the residents in this neighborhood knew that this boulevard was named after Sergeant York, the pacifist who became a World War One hero and was portrayed by Gary Cooper in the movies.
He nodded to the occasional early riser he passed and the sleepy doormen, most of who had been on duty since before midnight and were awaiting their morning relief. Some nodded back. Others didn’t seem inclined toward civility so late in their shift.
This area of York had many hospitals and medical schools, one after another. Ambulances passed him, even this early in the day. He walked passed Sloan Kettering with its many souls praying for a miracle. There was a single nurse outside preparing a wheelchair for some patient lucky enough to get to enjoy a bit of this wonderful sunny day.
Although caution was still called for, he wandered uninhibited and seemingly uncaring through the city streets. His attention was on his surroundings, and his manner was nonchalant and unhurried. He didn’t seem to notice the man following him at a wide distance.
At Sixty-Fifth Street and York Avenue he stopped at a stone bench that was permanently secured to the building. He stretched like a house cat lying on the carpet as the morning sunshine streamed through a living room window. Then he sat on the bench.
The man following him stopped as well, about half a block behind. He crossed the street and hid behind a shuttered metal newsstand directly across the avenue from Lowell. He took out his revolver and screwed on a silencer.
Lowell sat back against the building unbothered and relaxed. He opened the newspaper, turned to the op-ed page, and began reading.
The gunman couldn’t believe his luck. His prey was almost motionless as he balanced his gun hand against the edge of the kiosk, quietly took aim, and was about to fire.
“Drop it, scumbag,” said a voice behind him. “I really don’t want to have to kill you.”
He turned suddenly to face Andy’s gun aimed at his head. He stared Andy in the eye. At first it looked like he was about to turn the gun on him, but he realized the futility of it and dropped it onto the sidewalk.
Andy hit send on his cell phone. Lowell looked down at his phone and crossed the street. He approached Andy and the man.
“Well, McFarley,” said Lowell, “looks like we’ve finally got you.”
Chapter Fifty
The morning was bright and pleasantly warm. It wasn’t really summer anymore, but autumn hadn’t taken hold yet either. It was what many astrologers call a cusp—the transitional time between two periods.
Lowell went to the garage on Ninety-second Street. He’d called in advance and his car was waiting for him when he arrived. He gave the attendant a five dollar tip and got behind the wheel of the Volvo. He used to drive everywhere, often taking a day just to meander through Westchester or Long Island. But he had become complacent over the past eight years. Having Andy chauffeur him everywhere was often a blessing, but perhaps it had become a bit stifling. Every once in a while he needed to get out on his own.
He moved the seat back to a comfortable spot. Karen had pushed it too far forward when she had used it. Next he adjusted the rear view mirror, moved both side mirrors to accommodate him, and turned off the GPS. He knew where he was going.
Then he took a handful of CDs and loaded several into the player. He put the rest on the passenger’s seat within easy reach. Although he had Sirius Radio in all of his vehicles, he sometimes wanted to hear his favorite recording artists and not leave it up to the DJs. Today he was in the mood for the blues.
He popped in a few CDs, inc
luding Muddy Waters, Eric Clapton, The Blues Project, and his favorite blues piano player, Otis Spann. He hit the random button and the music started. “Otis in the Dark” was the first track. The steady rhythm of Spann’s left hand made his body move in time with the beat.
He left the garage and went cross town to the Henry Hudson Parkway. Traffic was light and he was soon lost in that semi-conscious state, driving on instinct. The trees were just starting to change, here and there a bright red next to a pale yellow. Autumn was always an emotional time for Lowell. Many significant events seem to happen in his life while the seasons were in flux, as if to remind us of how unstable are our best plans and how unsure is the future.
Time is a funny thing, he thought, as he drove unhurriedly. Twenty years can go by in a flash. You jump from thirty-two to fifty-two with barely a realization, just the added aches and pains, and more frequent pit stops as the plumbing starts to rust. And just as suddenly those years will disappear and you feel like you’re a kid again.
He’d lived a long time already, more than half a century, and had seen such joy and sadness, the memories were humbling. There’s no way a person can be aware of it all the time. We keep blessedly busy so we don’t always have to entertain our ghosts. But Lowell knew his ghosts would be with him today, and he was ready to embrace them all.
The Blues Project was playing “Wake Me Shake Me.” Al Kooper’s somewhat wobbly vocals teetering atop his organ fills, Danny Kalb’s incredibly fluid guitar licks, and Roy Blumenfeld’s imaginative, rock-steady drums. Lowell smiled. He’d picked the right soundtrack for this journey.
The rhythm of the music and the soft, hypnotic rumbling of the road finally shook his mind free to meander uninhibited.
When he reached his destination, he got out of the car and stretched his legs. At first he zipped up his bombardier’s jacket and turned the faux fur collar up around his neck. But it wasn’t that cold yet; just a crisp bite to the air here in the foothills of the Catskills announcing that the new season had begun.
He unzipped the jacket and stood for a moment breathing in the fresh mountain air, gazing up at the trees, already much barer than downstate, but still a brilliant red or orange here and there. A multicolored carpet of leaves spread out before him on the dead-end road at the wood’s edge, as it had so many times before. The memories threatened a flood of sensory input that he knew he could easily get lost within, and he had to push the past away so he could enjoy the unknown future. He took a step toward the house.
The front door opened and Catherine came out. She was wearing a very short blue dress and canary yellow shoes, just like she had the first time they’d made love at Freddie Finger’s concert so many years before. She looked about nineteen.
When Lowell saw her, he stopped and gazed up into her bright, emerald, fearless eyes, looking for confirmation. He held his breath as she stood on the porch and looked at him for a few moments, trying to decide.
Then she winked.
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